Sanare the Malfoy
by ink-wells
Summary: 8th year Hogwarts. Hermione is drafted in to tutor Malfoy, when the whole school starts revolting against him. Pretty soon, the only person he sees on a regular basis is the mudblood, and as tensions develop so does something else. Rated T.
1. Shipped of to Hogwarts

_**O**_ne.

x

Draco was a hollow of a man. Carved out like a pumpkin with a spent candle flickering inside. Any second, that little spark was going to go out. And then he would be a carcass. A big, lumbering carcass that shook hands, and spoke measured words but really it was a carcass parading as a soul.

The biggest change was in his eyes. They were vacant.

It was extremely hard to fake a soul, when your eyes were light as a friggin' sheen on a transparent lake. He took to shuttering his eyes with faking sudden headaches. That gave him the perfect excuse to purse his brow, and twitch with his eyes closed, as if recollecting something terrible.

Nobody questioned it.

In fact, they all thought it was ruddy normal for a young man to be traumatised after being Voldemort's fall-boy. They kept offering him rose petal tea, and a cloth to dash across his eyelids. This time, it went a step further and he found a drawstring pouch of smelling salts shoved up his nostrils.

"I-I'm fine!" he choked.

The latest person who had been trying to read his eyes (his mother) leaned back against the couch. "You're clearly not," she crossly said, with an apologetic house-elf by her side. He had clearly been the culprit of nose-gate. "Are you not feeling well? Did it come as quite a shock?"

Draco caught the last bit, and looked up half-interested.

"You're going back to Hogwarts," his mother repeated. "Back to eighth-year!"

Draco blinked. Life had evolved beyond Hogwarts. He was no longer the same person he was last year. It was like asking a Quidditch VIP season ticket holder, to give up his pass for a crappy seat in the top tier, that nobody wanted, and leaked everytime it rained. What was his mother _thinking?_

Casually, so not to scare her off, Draco opened his eyes. "No."

"_Draco."_

"I've already been and it went swimmingly, thank you very much."

"You didn't get to graduate!"

"Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something."

"Draco!" Narcissa picked up a brochure, and slapped him across the head. It might have been funny if he wasn't feeling so miserable. He merely readjusted his tousled hair, and ordered the house-elf for an ill-fated glass of water. Narcissa was starting to look like a spinning top, about to whistle at high-speed into the corners and bounce off the ligatured wall fittings, right back in his face. "_Curb that smart tongue!"_

"I'm sorry, mother," he mumbled, suddenly resentful of the same old trap he was falling into. "Actually, I'm not sorry!" He stood up. "I'm leaving this house! Forever!"

"YOU GET BACK RIGHT HERE."

Draco turned to face the doors, but it slammed inwards. He turned to face the windows, but absurdly, the curtains started reeling across the rail making a loud screeching noise. It denied him a lovely view of the garden, succumbing to a late sunset, bidding fond farewells to summer.

"What do you mean by forever?" Narcissa asked suspiciously.

"A simple overdramatic expression," Draco sat back down. "Don't think too much into it."

"You've changed your attitude."

"Like I said," Draco waved his hand airily. "Don't think too much into it. Is that for me?"

"You asked for it, Master," the house-elf bowed, with something accrue to sarcasm. But it probably was all in his head, wasn't it? House-elves weren't known for their startling wit. Draco eyeballed the critter from above the rim of his glass, and took a tentative sip waiting for the bugger to disapparate.

"I can't stand this!" Narcissa took to pacing on his behalf. "Who said something to you? You deserve an education just as much as anybody else, you know!"

"And I got it," Draco plaintively pleaded. "And now I'm here." He gestured down his body, to indicate he was physically anywhere she wanted him to be. Just stop. Just stop with all this talk about going to Hogwarts! He was beyond that now. After all he'd been through, dipping quills into inkpots and waving his hand in the air to answer a question just wasn't going to cut it. Maybe Granger could revert back to type, but _he _couldn't.

Too much water under the bridge.

"I'm not having anybody looking down their noses at us!"

"I'm here..." Draco intoned. "Look at me. Listen to me."

"Your last year was absolutely tainted! By that foul..." _Creature. _"It robbed your childhood! Look at you. So lifeless, not interested in anything. This weariness shouldn't be present in an 18-year-old!"

"Well, excuse me as I find an advanced aging potion..." Draco muttered. "Oh, so _now _you choose to apparate!"

True to form, the house-elf had heard his request and left to dig in some store-cupboards. His life was pretty shitty, it didn't need to add dodgy kneecaps and arthritis to the mix. Now he was certain the house-elf was messing with him. One coincidence he could look over, but not two.

"Draco!"

"_What?" _He snapped.

"Pay attention!"

"I'm senile, remember?"

The resulting scream could be heard several floors down till the basement. Wriggling a finger in his ear, Draco felt his annoyance triple at his mother's passion for _everything. _Why couldn't she let sleeping dogs lie? It was a famous idiom that didn't deserve to be ignored, you know.

"That's it," she fumed. "I tried having a reasonable discussion with you and it failed. You're going, and that's my final say on the matter."

* * *

This was ridiculous.

A grown man being ordered around by his mother. Grow some balls, will you. Draco stared steely-eyed into a full-length mirror in a rocking compartment, and ran an eye distastefully down his uniform. Even more ridiculous. School uniforms were designed with children in mind. It was natural for him to wear it differently. His eyes had seen a little too much. His body just a bit too experienced.

A little child wouldn't be able to cope with his true nakedness. His true vulnerability.

It wasn't meant for a child to handle.

Dismissively, he got rid of the mirror and sunk low in his seat. Once he would've been thrilled to get a compartment all to himself, but now he saw it for it was- a stunning indictment. Everybody knew he was here. The whispers had started the moment he ducked through King's Cross. They all deserved a good smack, but he wasn't going to be one giving it to them. He could just about imagine the picture...

A row of upturned bottoms as he ran up and down, playing a decent toe-tapping rhythm.

Morosely, Draco stared out of the window as the train ate through the landscape. Over the past few nights, he had contemplated many ways of giving his mum the slip. In the end, it all just went to pot. He didn't have any friends he could turn too. Didn't know of any shelters willing to take him in. Why would they? He was that strange kid, belongng in an ambiguous category of being neither a traitor nor an ally.

And all down to his sodding mother.

Through the dim light, he read the flickering letters. _Hogsmeade._

They were pulling up into the station. Eight times he'd taken this journey. _Eight _times. Peeved, he let the initial flood of students fight it out in the corridors. Once that died down, he took down his suitcase. It felt wrong in his hands. Like it didn't belong somehow. Ignoring the disembodied feeling of throwing himself on the tracks once he got off, Draco dusted his sleeves and bleakly looked up.

Professor McGonagall was staring evenly back at him.

"Evening, Mr Malfoy. I've caught you."

She didn't crack a smile when Draco involuntarily jerked backwards, and nearly fell back into the train. A well-placed hand and a short curse put a stop to proceedings. Draco couldn't even save face. He'd been well and truly caught out.

"For a second, I thought you'd gone."

Draco cleared his throat. "Gone? Gone where?"

"It's time to enlighten you," Professor McGonagall turned, and beckoned Draco with a finger over her shoulder. He fell into step, exactly one beat behind. He didn't want to be brushing biceps with her. She had taken over Dumbledore's mantle, of being approachable yet imposing, quite well. The usual guilt associated with Dumbledore's name was merciless as it came. It made him fall even further behind.

"Mr Malfoy. Your return to this school has been well publicised."

_It has?_

"Understandably, it has divided the nation about your true intentions."

_True intentions?_

"They are wary about your involvement in Voldemort's torturing, but at the same time, have read Harry Potter vouching for the Malfoy's family character in all his interviews. It is clear he sees a light in you. A light that some might not see. Therefore it is in my best prerogative to inform you, that the entire student body is planning a walk-out if you step foot within the Great Hall."

Draco came to a standstill. He was too busy gaping at the back of McGonagall's head.

"It is regrettable and ill-advised. But I can't do anything to stop it."

She stopped and turned, seeming surprised at the distance between them. It might as well have been a galaxy. The boy was disappearing further and further away from her, and there was nothing she could do to bring him back. Brusquely, she turned to face the last carriage waiting for them.

"When you arrive, there is a little door to your left. Help yourself to the replenishing feast and then retire to your room. The password to the Slytherin common room is _Sanare._ The latin meaning for 'to heal'."

"Apt," Draco muttered. "Very apt."

"You may want to walk," she offered her last piece of wisdom, aware the thestrals were getting impatient. "The hallway is still crowded with first-years and it might take a while to clear. Plus it will fortify your lungs. A big strapping boy like you, can walk, can't he?"

Mutely, he nodded.

Giving him one last assessing glare, Professor McGonagall swung herself and tapped the side of the cart, to let the thestrals now it was okay to go. He lifted up a hand - perhaps to shout thank you - perhaps to shout nothing at all - but he let it drop and wondered if his eyes told the whole story.

He didn't want to be here. But where else could he be?

Twenty minutes later, loud singing was galloping out of the Hall. Clearly, the mass protest were equally happy to stay put and tuck into a meal too. He didn't blame them. The school still had ghostprints left over from the War. The foyer was all fine and dandy, except for the big chunk of staircase still waiting to be repaired.

Shit.

This was bad. It was bringing back too many memories.

Fumbling, he threw open the door McGonagall suggested and shut the door just as quickly behind him. He sagged against it in relief. This was all a bad idea. He let the suitcase go with a _thwack _and it hit the floor cold. There was no way he was going to walk the hallways, and nod politely to all its' habitants.

He could say "_Sanare" _all he liked, but it was never going to happen. Simple really.

* * *

**A**n **: November 2013 and it's about time my new pet project was unleashed to the world.  
Old readers - are you still there? New readers - welcome.  
**

**Doesn't matter who you are...review! Next chapter will be up soon.**


	2. Tutoring Contract

**T**_wo._

x

Hermione didn't see the initial spar of words.

She was too busy running around the aisles of Hogwarts Library, reaching up or crouching down for the relevant book. Some books were reduced to tatters during the War, but they'd been gathered up, and gingerly sent for restoration. It was the first weekend back; and Hermione had already caught up with this month's reading.

Suddenly, a loud noise drew her attention to the window.

It sounded like a group of people jeering and goading. Out of half-interest, Hermione peeked out and then wondered why she bothered. It was only Malfoy being beaten up again.

Although Malfoy hadn't bothered with lessons this week, he still managed to end up in one scrape or another. He usually walked away, or a teacher intervened, but this time Malfoy was holding his ground. Intrigued, Hermione watched Draco with his sleeves rolled up, circle Ernie Macmillan.

He already had a cut lip.

"Come on then," he challenged. "Take me on for bragging rights."

Then, he actually held his fists up!

Startled, Hermione scanned the surrounding and noticed another Hufflepuff smirking. He was standing with his arms crossed, with two wands tucked in his armpit. Understanding flooded Hermione. Her eyes snapped back to Malfoy, transfixed, wondering what he was going to do next.

"Oh, please." Ernie scoffed. "There's no-one to save you now. Not mummy. Not daddy. Not even Harry blinking Potter."

Hermione hissed, taking offence at Ernie's casual attitude. She knew he was only playing up, but Harry didn't deserve such an adjective inserted inbetween his name. He'd been through a lot, and the last thing he needed was to be brought up in a schoolyard pissing contest.

Her fingers went to the latch, but lingered when Malfoy laughed. It was a frightening guffaw.

"I don't need them," he said dismissively. "But you're going to need stitches."

The crowd booed, not liking Malfoy's threat. Hermione, sensing it was going to turn ugly really fast, dropped her books and rushed out of the library. Her feet thundered down the steps, and caused a few heads to turn as she sailed past the the foyer hall.

The Library faced north-west, away from the entrance so Hermione had to run around the corner. She was too late. In the clearing, Malfoy and Ernie were rolling around on the floor. People nudged each other as they saw her, and Hermione put her best matriarchal face on.

"Look, it's the honourary head girl!" whispered a third-year.

"Yeah," rolled the eyes of a bitchy Slytherin, who had no problem watching her house peer get a thrashing. "Not the same as a head girl though, is it? She only got the post, because McGonagall had a funny moment."

"Right!" Hermione snapped, ticked off even further. "Thirty points from Slytherin!"

The colour drained from her face, like she'd expected Hermione _not _to hear that insult.

"Not laughing now, are we?" she said with relish. She tapped the mauve badge pinned to her chest. "This gives me the same rights as the actual head girl, Luna, as we all know. If you have any issues with my sanctions, then please consult your relevent Head, and we'll see about any further disciplinary action."

The Slytherin gulped. "What did she just say?"

"I don't know," the third year muttered back. "But I think your arse is whooped."

Blushing, the Slytherin sent a hateful glare in her direction and hurried off, probably to avoid a worsened sentence. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. Usually, she was treated with reverence everywhere she went, but sometimes the guard slipped when she was out of earshot. Hermione didn't expect any different from the Slytherins. They all couldn't change over one summer, and turn into muggle-lovers.

Hermione turned her attention back to the brawl.

No-one else had gotten involved yet, but Malfoy was now having his head repeatedly banged against the floor, and Ernie's neck in turn, was getting throttled.

Appearing to get the upper hand, Malfoy rolled over and continued strangling Ernie.

"MALFOY."

Typical.

"_MALFOY!"_

Draco looked up and clocked Hermione. A weaker person would've turned tail and fled. Such hatred was directed at her form, it scorched Hermione's core and fried her brain to a crisp. All the rage was being swallowed up in their sizzling eye contact, and Hermione began to tremble, not withstanding the pressure.

She averted her eyes.

"Professor McGonagall wants to see you." The lie rolled easily off her lips.

"What, _now?" _Ernie asked incredulously with a bloody nose underneath him.

Mutely, Hermione nodded. She wasn't looking at Draco, but despite that, she was aware of his every move. She felt, rather than heard, the groan of Ernie as Draco stood up. Felt, rather than saw, him walking towards her. He was a full head above her, but so gentle with his footfalls. At last, Draco quietly muttered, "_Let's go" _and waited for Hermione to take the lead. Again, that irritating frisson as she felt his eyes trained on her back.

Being made to walk in front of someone made you vulnerable to them.

Was this why he'd suggested this?

Hermione escorted Draco all the way to the Slytherin dorms, and waited for him to go inside. Draco was planning no such thing. When Hermione met his eyes again; the light was accusatory.

"This isn't the head's office."

The sarcasm came naturally. "Well, obviously."

"Why are we here?"

"I lied, okay?" Hermione took a deep breath. "It's the weekend, no teacher wants to see you. They're all in their offices or in the staff room. I just didn't want-"

"Did you just try to _save _me?" Draco interrupted, a vein ticking in his forehead. He looked mad, though the anger in his eyes were no longer present. Hermione strangely felt violated, as his eyes ran contemptuously down her clothes, to her shoes, then back again.

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that-"

"Granger. You _revolt _me."

Hermione blinked. "Okay."

"Whenever I see that bushy hide of yours, I erupt in _pimples." _Draco leaned in close, uncomfortably close. "Don't you realise what that means? I'm allergic to you. You're so undeniably filthy, I want to douse myself in arsenic just to feel clean again. Who could be attracted to such a hag, like you?"

"Is this meant to make me feel worse about myself?" Hermione said dryly. "Congragulations. You've failed yet again."

Hermione turned away, to walk down the corridor, but the last thing she expected was him to pull her back. She made two steps, before a hand lashed around her forearm and swiveled her around again. He didn't immediately let go. Instead he tightened his grip.

"Uh, Malfoy? Let me go."

Again, his face inched closer and closer, until his sneering face filled her vision. His pants of air fell on her nose. Hermione wanted to sneeze, but also point out the beautiful juxtaposition that he was breathing in the same air she was breathing out. If he didn't want to be connected, he sure had a weird way of going about it.

"Malfoy. Are you trying to kiss me?" She said as a joke.

The second she said it, Hermione wished she could shove the words back into her mouth. What a thing to suggest, when a boy you hated was staring at you so intensely.

"Maybe I should," he said, changing the angle of intent.

Hermione's eyes widened, sensing the danger. The Malfoy of old, wouldn't dream of accosting her and pinning her against the wall. Because that's what he was doing now. Pinning her against the wall. At least there was a distance between their bodies. How awkward things would be, if they were flush?

The wall behind them gave way. Malfoy had idiotically trapped her against the exit of the Slytherin common room. Someone was coming out and Hermione eeped, instinctively grabbing his robes and yanking him to her body. There was a reason why she didn't like this. Malfoy could probably feel all her soft wobbly bits against his hardness.

Disturbed, Hermione let go of him, pushing him away and at the same time, staggering backwards, into the shocked person wanting to leave. Draco, from outside, nonchalantly pulled down his sleeves and buttoned them up again.

"See you in class, mudblood."

He strode away, leaving Hermione to apologise profusely to their gawping spectator. Thankfully it wasn't a face she recognised.

* * *

When Draco Malfoy, schoolboy turned Deatheater, the same guy who hadn't bothered showing up for lessons all week, suddenly turned up, Hermione felt shock.

It was the following Monday, and first period was Charms. Professor Flitwick gave him a nod, and pointed at an empty seat at the far end of the room, away from her.

For some reason, she felt relief.

This was in contrast to the rest of the class, a medley of eighth and seventh years taking this class together. Ginny was with her thankfully, so she felt right at home. Malfoy had...no-one. As he walked up the aisle, animosity came from all corners. There was a palpable tension simmering in the room.

Hermione didn't spare him a second glance.

Saturday was the final time she would try to protect his butt. No longer.

Clearly, he was itching to fight all his battles and prove himself, so she didn't need all that negative energy redirected at her anyway. He'd been pysching her out earlier - and it'd worked.

"Today we'll be practising in partners," Prefessor Flitwick announced. "First dibs to our latest arrival - Mr Malfoy."

There was a low grumble of disagreement, and Hermione was suddenly terrified. What if he picked her? No, he wouldn't. Would he? As Hermione went to-and-fro, Malfoy leisurely took time to size up his classmates. He smirked when he saw Granger duck over her desk, but skipped over her, and picked...

"Neville Longbottom."

"No," Ginny stood up. "Not him!"

"Then you?"

"Not me either," she said firmly. "For Harry's sake, we'll be civil to you but your aunt inflicted a lot on us."

"Hey," Draco frowned. "I can't be held accountable for her pettiness."

"Stop being a hypocrite!"

Dean stood up, flexing a hand. Draco followed suit, and suddenly it was like being at the library window again, about to witness the start of a rumble all over again. Despaired, Hermione closed her eyes. She realised that now. Everywhere Malfoy appeared, he was going to attract controversy and venom. Maybe there was a reason he'd stayed away this long. He'd predicted this was going to happen from the very start...

"Going to finish what Ernie couldn't?" Draco sneered.

"Boys!" Professor Flitwick called. "Not in the classroom!"

"Yes, in the classroom," Ernie said, probably not realising he'd just replied to a teacher. Hermione froze. Everyone froze. Slowly, Ernie turned to face the teacher and plastered a fake sheepish smile.

"Sorry?"

"Enough!" Professor Flitwick slammed his desk with a fist. "Both of you leave. No. One of you leave. Mr Malfoy - please depart and don't think about coming back. You've disrupted this school enough. I'll discuss with the Headmistress for alternative arrangements. In the meantime - go to your dorm."

"This was a shit lesson anyway," Draco snarled, causing everyone to gasp.

_Nobody _spoke like that in front of a teacher. Hermione peeked through her hair, as Draco stormed out of the classroom and Dean sunk down in his chair.

But he wasn't let off the hook just yet.

"Mr Thomas, sixty points off Gryffindor and detention."

"But-"

Professor Flitwick quelled him with one look. _Don't start._

* * *

_"_Miss Granger, one moment please?"

A few days later, Hermione put down her quill and looked expectantly at the Charms teacher. Was this about extra credit? Delighted, Hermione approached her teacher and sat down on a chair opposite him. Class ended two minutes ago, and people were still filing out. It didn't take long for them to be gone.

"How are your NEWTS preparation going?"

"Great," she enthusiastically said.

"Any trouble?"

"No, though I did wonder about this spell-"

Hermione broke off, when Professor Flitwick put his hand on top of hers. _Extremely weird, _she thought.

"How about earning extra credit?"

They were now back on familiar territory, though Hermione was still un-nerved.

"W-what is it?"

"Do you like tutoring?"

Hermione puffed her chest. Did she ever! Was Professor Flitwick going to recommend some second-years? She'd whip them up into shape, no problem. Mentally, she ran over the syllabus, pleased it was still in there. In her excitement, she didn't pick up on Professor Flitwick's hesitation or delaying tactics.

"Absolutely! Giving back what I've learnt - what an experience!"

"Any preference for age?"

"I always helped Harry and Ron," Hermione laughed. "I can handle anybody."

As if that was the cue for Professor Flitwick, a look of relief passed over his face. "Well, good. Because the person I want you tutor from now on is Draco Malfoy. Is that all right?"

* * *

**A/N: HGDM interaction FTW! More of that, coming up.**

**Thanks to my reviewers: whenallelsefail & FangirlFeeling.**

**More feedback appreciated.**


End file.
